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Do several passions invade the mind,
And strike our reason blind,

Of which usurping rank, some have thought love
The first; as prone to move

Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests,
In our enflamed breasts:

But this doth from the cloud of error grow,
Which thus we over-blow.

The thing they here call Love, is blind desire,
Arm'd with bow, shafts, and fire;
Inconstant, like the sea, of whence 'tis born,
Rough, swelling, like a storm :

With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear,
And boils, as if he were

In a continual tempest. Now, true love
No such effects doth prove;

That is an essence far more gentle, fine,
Pure, perfect, nay divine;

It is a golden chain let down from heaven,
Whose links are bright and even,

That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines
The soft, and sweetest minds

In equal knots: this bears no brands, nor darts,
To murder different hearts,

But in a calm, and god-like unity,

Preserves community.

O, who is he, that, in this peace, enjoys
The elixir of all joys?

A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers,
And lasting as her flowers:

Richer than Time, and as time's virtue rare
Sober, as saddest care;

A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance:
Who, blest with such high chance

8 And as time's virtue rare.] Truth, which is said proverbially to be the daughter of Time. WHAL.

Would, at suggestion of a steep desire,
Cast himself from the spire

Of all his happiness? But soft : I hear
Some vicious fool draw near,

That cries, we dream, and swears there's no such thing,

As this chaste love we sing.

9

Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those

Who, being at sea, suppose,

Because they move, the continent doth so.
No, Vice, we let thee know,

Though thy wild thoughts with sparrow's wings do flie,
Turtles can chastly die;

And yet (in this t'express our selves more clear)
We do not number here

Such spirits as are only continent,

Because lust's means are spent:

Or those, who doubt the common mouth of fame,
And for their place and name,
Cannot so safely sin: their chastity

Is mere necessity.

Nor mean we those, whom vows and conscience
Have fill'd with abstinence:

Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain,
Makes a most blessed gain.

He that for love of goodness hateth ill,
Is more crown-worthy still,

Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears;
His heart sins, though he fears.
But we propose a person like our Dove,
Graced with a Phoenix' love;

9 Peace, luxury,] i. e. lust. It is simply the Fr. luxure, then in general use. On this trite word, Steevens (under the name of Collins) has poured out, for the benefit of the youthful readers of Shakspeare, pages of the grossest indecency.

"verbis, nudum olido stans Fornice mancipium quibus abstinet !”

A beauty of that clear and sparkling light,
Would make a day of night,

And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys;
Whose odorous breath destroys

All taste of bitterness, and makes the air
As sweet as she is fair.

A body so harmoniously composed,
As if nature disclosed

All her best symmetry in that one feature!
O, so divine a creature,

Who could be false to? chiefly, when he knows
How only she bestows

The wealthy treasure of her love on him;
Making his fortunes swim

In the full flood of her admired perfection?
What savage, brute affection,
Would not be fearful to offend a dame
Of this excelling frame?

Much more a noble, and right generous mind,
To virtuous moods inclin'd,

That knows the weight of guilt;' he will refrain
From thoughts of such a strain,

And to his sense object this sentence ever,

"Man may securely sin, but safely never."

1 That knows the weight of guilt, &c.] This is from Seneca, the tragedian:

Quid pœna presens consciæ mentis pavor,
Animusque culpa plenus, et semet timens:
Scelus aliqua tutum, nulla securum tulit.

XII.

EPISTLE

TO ELIZABETH COUNTESS OF RUTLAND.2

MADAM,

HILST that for which all virtue now is sold,
And almost every vice, almighty gold,

W

That which, to boot with hell, is thought
worth heaven

And for it, life, conscience, yea souls are given,
Toils, by grave custom, up and down the court,
To every squire, or groom, that will report
Well or ill, only all the following year,

Just to the weight their this day's presents bear;
While it makes huishers serviceable men,
And some one apteth to be trusted then,
Though never after; whiles it gains the voice
Of some grand peer, whose air doth make rejoice
The fool that gave it; who will want and weep,
When his proud patron's favours are asleep;
While thus it buys great grace, and hunts poor fame;
Runs between man and man; 'tween dame and dame;
Solders crack'd friendship; makes love last a day;
Or perhaps less whilst gold bears all this sway,
I, that have none to send you, send you verse.
A present which, if elder writs rehearse
The truth of times, was once of more esteem,
Than this our gilt, nor golden age can deem,
When gold was made no weapon to cut throats,
Or put to flight Astrea, when her ingots

2 Elizabeth countess of Rutland.] The lady to whom the 79th epigram is addressed, daughter of sir Philip Sidney, and wife of Roger Manners, fifth earl of Rutland. She died before the appearance of this volume, as did her husband.

Were yet unfound, and better placed in earth,3
Than here, to give pride fame, and peasants birth.
But let this dross carry what price it will
With noble ignorants, and let them still
Turn upon scorned verse their quarter-face :
With you, I know, my offering will find grace.
For what a sin 'gainst your great father's spirit,
Were it to think, that you should not inherit
His love unto the Muses, when his skill
Almost you have, or may have when you will?
Wherein wise nature you a dowry gave,
Worth an estate, treble to that you have.
Beauty I know is good, and blood is more;

Riches thought most; but, madam, think what

store

The world hath seen, which all these had in trust, And now lie lost in their forgotten dust.

It is the Muse alone, can raise to heaven,

And at her strong arm's end, hold up, and even,
The souls she loves. Those other glorious notes,
Inscribed in touch or marble, or the coats
Painted, or carv'd upon our great men's tombs,
Or in their windows, do but prove the wombs

That bred them, graves: when they were born they

died,

That had no muse to make their fame abide.
How many equal with the Argive queen,

Have beauty known, yet none so famous seen?
Achilles was not first, that valiant was,

Or, in an army's head, that lock'd in brass

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Were yet unfound, and better placed in earth, &c.]

"Aurum irrepertum et sic melius situm
Cum terra celet, spernere fortior

Quàm cogere humanos in usus
Omne sacrum rapiente dextra."

HOR.

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